Chapter 53
Three minutes after Jones and Deborah left the Black Druid they turned back on to the main A4 road way and continued their trip westward in the direction of Bristol, quickly disappearing over a low rise.
At the very same moment a black Packard sedan pulled off the A4 and accelerated its way through the streets of Avebury with tires squealing. The car was going far too fast and some of the local residents of this normally sleepy roadside village were forced to jump out of the way to avoid the risk of being hit. Whoever was at the wheel was oblivious to the angry shouts and shaking fists that followed.
They pulled to a stop in front of the Black Druid. Two men in dark suits with hats pulled down low exited the vehicle. They appeared to be agitated, and in a hurry. One of the men spoke English with a distinctly foreign accent. They held a brief conversation before one of the men entered the pub; the other went in and out of two other shops close by, then came and stood next to the vehicle, looking around in all directions with searching eyes.
A moment later the first man came quickly out of the Black Druid shouting to the other and pointing to his watch. Both men got back into the car. With more squealing of tires the black sedan accelerated down towards the main road and turned back on to the A4.
Exactly twelve minutes later they located their prey, and accelerated to close the distance to the silver Mercedes roadster up ahead.
Jones was the first to notice the ominous black sedan closing in on them. He caught sight of them in the passenger side view mirror. Something didn't look right.
It took only a second for Deborah, seeing Jones sudden look of consternation to bring her eyes up to the rear view mirror.
"They're going awfully fast don't you think?" Jones said as he fished his .455 Webley handgun out of his field pack.
Deborah said nothing but kept her eyes glued to the rear view mirror. Normally the Mercedes roadster would be able to leave the Packard in the dust; however they were now on a stretch of road that included multiple S-turns and other twists. It would be difficult to shake them.
"Deborah!" Jones suddenly shouted and pointed ahead.
She slammed on the brakes and stopped just in time to avoid disaster. As they came around a bend in the road a farmer was leading a herd of cattle across the roadway just in front of them.
"Damnit!" Deborah cursed and slammed her fists hard on the steering wheel as the Mercedes came to a complete stop.
The farmer smiled and waved at them as his slow bovine procession plodded across the road.
Jones smiled and returned the wave, and then turned back to see that the ominous black Packard would be upon them in seconds.
"We've got to get out of here!" He shouted.
An expression of sheer determination shone on Deborah's face as she slammed the Mercedes into reverse, popped the clutch and punched the gas.
The sports car jerked backward with a roar and a squeal in a bee-line for the oncoming black sedan.
The farmer's jaw dropped. The cows looked up.
Surprised by the unexpected maneuver, the driver of the Packard instinctively jammed on his brakes and swerved to the left. Deborah took the opportunity to slam the roadster back into gear and take off, plunging off the road to the right and into the meadow from which the procession of cattle was coming.
The high performance roadster struggled momentarily for traction in the damp and somewhat muddy field. Realizing she needed to slow down to gain control of the vehicle she let off the gas a little.
Behind them the occupants of the Packard got out and began shouting. Jones looked back and saw one of them produce a handgun.
"Step on it!" He urged Deborah.
She looked over at him briefly. "This car is designed for the road, Doctor Jones, not a cow pasture! I'm going as fast as I can!"
Cattle scattered in all directions, lowing and mooing in alarm, but there was no way around the herd.
Their pursuers got back into their car and duplicated Deborah's maneuver, plunging off the road and into the meadow. By a trick of bad luck for Jones and Deborah, the lumbering Packard seemed to perform better in the off-road conditions than did the Mercedes and quickly gained on them.
"We've got to get back on the road!" She shouted.
Jones viewed the large herd of cattle, now off to their left side.
"That's not going to happen anytime soon!" He shouted back. Then looking up ahead he could discern the outlines of houses.
"That way!" He pointed excitedly.
Deborah saw it too. Up ahead there was a line of houses; the outskirts of another village.
In fact the village they saw across the other side of the meadow was the outskirts of Chippenham. Penelope had mentioned it as one of the way points along the trip to Somerset during her 'travel agent' dissertation she'd given them earlier that day.
"We've got to get back on the road!" Jones shouted.
"I think I've said that already!" She shouted, and then turned to him with an impish grin.
Indeed this lady was one cool customer, Jones thought.
Before the Packard could overtake them the Mercedes once again grabbed asphalt under its tires.
They entered the outskirts of Chippenham.
Cozy looking brick houses with well tended gardens bordered by neatly kept hedges flashed by on either side as the Mercedes accelerated through the small village.
Moments later the black Packard surged off of the meadow and on to the street, continuing to give chase.
Deborah executed a series of skillful maneuvers, turning down numerous side streets and roundabouts, but to no avail. The Packard doggedly clung to them, apparently driven by someone at least as equally skilled as herself in the handling of a high speed automobile.
Eventually they made their way completely across the town and entered back on to the main A4 roadway. Deborah pushed the Mercedes to its limits as they encountered a kilometer long stretch of straightaway. But then she had to press hard on the brakes as this was followed by a wicked, nearly 90 degree S-curve.
She slammed on the brakes and spun the steering wheel. The tires of the high performance roadster screamed and slid across the road. A rather violent down shift caused Jones to lurch forward in the passenger seat.
But she made it.
The Mercedes completed the wicked turn and Deborah spun the wheel back in the other direction as she regained control.
The Packard was not so lucky.
As the driver of the lumbering black vehicle attempted to duplicate Deborah's maneuver the car first went up on two wheels, and then flipped over, completing two and a half full revolutions before slamming upside down into a row of trees.
As Jones looked back at their receding pursuers he saw at least one bloodied figure emerge from the crippled automobile before losing sight of them.
"Who in the hell were they?!" He shouted excitedly.
"I think it's pretty obvious Doctor Jones," she looked over at him briefly before focusing back on the road. "Somehow the Nazis have tracked us down."
Jones eyes searched around as he tried to make sense of it.
"How could they have known where we are? Do they know where we're going?" After the day's thus far idyllic road trip through the heartland of England he suddenly felt a renewed sense of danger.
They drove on in silence. Whatever happened they needed to stay focused on finding the idol. Only then could things sort themselves out, he thought.
Less than an hour later the Mercedes roadster made its way along the outskirts of the city of Bristol, along the shores of the river Avon. Jones and Deborah were looking for somewhere they could get some local maps.
Known for its art and culture the city of Bristol was a favorite tourist attraction and sported numerous hotels. They pulled up to the first one they came across, a drab looking establishment set in a large Georgian townhouse called the Clifton Hotel.
After scrutinizing the selection of tourist maps available at the front desk they purchased one that covered the entire North Somerset area, including a detailed street map of Clevedon.
Minutes later they were back on the road and on their way in search of 21 Sea Road, and whatever they would find there.
It was a pleasant drive. It was a heavily wooded area, broken up now and then by fenced in farms and meadows. In time Jones began to detect the scent of the ocean as they eventually entered the town limits of Clevedon itself. Within 20 minutes they had located Sea road, which true to its name ran right along the coast of the upper Bristol Channel.
On one side of the road cliffs ran down to the beach, where the gray waters of the channel lapped up on to jagged black rocks. On the other side the land rose gently, and was studded here and there with handsome and stately seaside estates; one of which was number 21.
"Nice neighborhood," Jones said as Deborah made a right turn where a stone wall gave entrance into the driveway of number 21 Sea Road.
The drive angled up and then circled around to the right where it flattened out in front of the main entrance to the estate.
It was a fine Tudor style mansion with multiple gables and several bay windows that looked out on to the channel.
Deborah cut the engine. "Well, what next Professor?"
"What happened to Indy?" Jones asked her with a wry smile, before opening the door and exiting the car.
Despite the nerve wracking chase from the Nazi agents and other recent stresses, Jones knew he had to keep his sense of balance and sense of humor. He felt close to solving the seventy plus year long conundrum of the mysterious missing Pacific idol and he had to stay on the level, and not let things get to him. Nazis or not, if at all possible he would get to the idol before them.
The sky had grown even more overcast, hinting at the possibility of rain in the near future. The sweet, salty scent of the ocean was strong here. It was a scent that Jones liked, and he took a deep breath and exhaled, before taking hold of the large front door knocker and striking three quick raps.
The door was answered by a slight middle aged woman. Her face was rather plain and her hair might have even been considered a bit unkempt. She wore a plain looking house dress and a tired look in her eyes.
"Yes?" She said inquisitively. "May I help you?"
Jones suddenly realized that he hadn't bothered to think of what he was going to say.
He stumbled momentarily but recovered quickly. "Good Afternoon, my name is Henry Jones, I'm an archaeologist from America," he motioned towards Deborah. "And this is my associate, Deborah Matson."
The woman stared at him and narrowed her eyes a bit in an expression of confusion.
"I came here," Jones went on. "Originally to find a man named Reginald Cleese, formerly…"
"My father is dead Mr. Jones," she cut him off.
Indy stopped talking and a momentary look of relief spread across his face. BINGO! He thought to himself. After all the troubles, all the research and digging, here he was standing before the daughter of Reginald Cleese himself.
"I know that your father is deceased Miss….?" Jones angled his head inquisitively.
"My name is Victoria Davenport," she said. "Mrs.…..Victoria Davenport. And what business would you have with my father anyway?"
"Mrs. Davenport, I am so sorry to intrude on you like this, but what has brought us here today is the culmination of a very …very long search. It's not something I can explain quickly," He looked at her imploringly. "Could we maybe come in?"
The woman studied his face for a moment, and then said. "Well, I haven't had any company for tea in a long time, please do come in."
Jones breathed a sigh of relief as he and Deborah entered the house.
